To a fair maiden at court.

Where loyalty means naught,

gossip runs amok the corridors of gentry.

‘Tis wisdom to fold the tongue within

lest a knife they find beneath your breast at morn.

Alas not a soul will be held to ransom

for this ghastly deed; for it is the way of the gentry,

is it not?

To kill in the shades of darkness

 for the sake of a ale come ‘morrows eve.

Oh fair maiden ’tis the truth I speak

say not to one ’tis such that ails me.

What help is a Samaritan to a Jew

or a Jew to a Samaritan

if the oath of humanity is not revered by both.

‘Do unto another … as you will them do unto you’

Tis not help they seek to offer my beloved

but a morsel of fat they hope to gain

an offering to grease the sizzling pans of gossip.

For to truly help another

the sands on their heels must not be ignored

nor the scars on their backs.

From this they have been shaped

From this they must shape the future

guided with dignity

and not the arms of a narcissistic saviour.

Oh fair maiden heed my advice

Stay far from the morsel of gossip

it breeds you nothing but a soul fattened with maggots.

 

 

A crisp dance

Salt and vinegar

Cheese and onions,

Crinkled and smooth

Smoked and spicy,

Dipped in sauce

Eaten alone,

Eaten from elegant bone china

Eaten straight  from shinny packs,

On the go

Or on the couch,

Sun up or sun down

25pence or 1pound a pack,

The crunchy sound of teeth mingling with crisp cannot be mistaken.

neither can an unhealthy relationship between the pocket and waistline be missed

when a loyal union is formed between the teeth and crisps.

Written for daily post word prompt – crisp

 

Pixabay free images

 

 

 

 

Daily bread

……….give us this day our daily bread

some have food, but cannot eat

some can eat, but have no food.

We found food and we can eat

Glory be to thee oh lord.

Once was a time, when daily bread was a major need

from eras marked by; boars roasted over open fires,

fruits picked fresh from forest floors

broths made in pans enough to feed a neighbourhood.

To new one’s filed with; fancy dishes vibrant with colours

fruits grown in air filled with who knows what

meals that leave your tongue tingly with pleasure

but bellies hollow with churning walls.

What then was the essence of daily bread?

 

Man has indeed come a very long way

from meeting basic needs to creating greedy vacuums

Man has indeed come a long way

from conquering the wild to conquering his neighbour

Man has travelled far…..

very far from the person he was or sort to become to the person he despised.

In the search of daily bread

steal not the flour for todays child.

Easter’s hope

On a night like this,

beneath clouds of white concrete

a cradle of motionless stars;

I sit and ponder,

the mystery of a king

trading his life for a starry eyed wonderer.

What would he have said

of this wooden jungle grounded in concrete,

mini-cages holding lives

he wills the gift of freedom,

healing rooms that cure the coffin

but not the bone.

Aye! I ask myself,

what would he have thought,

of boxes that look within but see not the person,

of mirrors that speak the truth

in syllabus that only the deaf comprehend.

Of little value is the spring dew

to the flesh of a spirit languishing from thirst.

On a night as such,

beneath white concrete clouds

I ask myself

of what use are stars

if they lead us nowhere in the dark.

If ….

If all the knives in the house were bread knives

with what would we butter our toast.

If all the knives in the house were matches

with what would we cut out vegetables.

If all the knives were the same

what a grace-less act it would be enjoy a simple meal

and a horrendous ordeal to chop the wood with a table knife.

If you and I were the same,

of what use is the day and night?

All for nought would be the

strings of silence played by the mid-night breeze.

All for nought the

chorus of birds at the command of a rising sun.

---

A hearty welcome to all new followers, viewers and faithful virtual friends, you gladden my heart. On this quest were many cry ‘abandon this infatuation’ I sincerely appreciate all those who haven’t dissented.

Happy Easter.

Nature’s frame.

Shards of frozen crystals settle on a rock

Beauty lends itself a home on a bedrock of strength.

Exquisitely adorned by nature.

I feel your strength engulfing me

bidding me live, bidding me stand

in-spite of your cold and aloof nature.

Set this frame right next to me

and when cold hands come beckoning

The ambience of happy days spent with you shall comfort me.

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Written for the daily post and photo challenge.

Slain

On the altar of hope lies a crimson heart

char my doubts,

pray the wind at dawn scatter my ashes 

unto distant shores of pleasant pastures.

it wails.

∗∗∗

On the shores of an abyss lies a patched mind

swallow my pain,

pray  the waves at dusk snatch my memory

into depths unknown from which none shall return

it wails.

∗∗∗

On the cross of forgiveness lies a broken body

salvage my wounds

pray the dew of heaven nourish my flesh

healing every crevice blotting out every scar

it cries.

∗∗∗

On the altar of love, a voice beckons … 

’tis but for a season’ this too …

Reflections

Deep and fearful

is the boundless pit of inferiority.

Throw in your mansions, jets 

achievements and dreams.

Wider only shall it’s jaws grow, insatiable yet contained.

pulling you into a shrivelling shell.

 

His bedmate superiority 

differs not by much.

His garlands of acquisition enthrones him on high

from whence he tumbles at the whiff of a challenge.

Bill Gates is not the prince of Wales 

and the Prince of Wales isn’t Bill Gates.

Each holds a stake but one has the veins.

Find your God, find true royalty.

DNA connected.

 

Many are the battles that swell my pride,

Deep are the valleys from whence my soul cries deliverance.

Battles fierce and valleys black no conquest surmounts the 

victorious chant ‘I encouraged myself in the Lord.’ 

For with it inferiority’s loses its hold.

and the yoke of superiority is abolished.

My mind sings freely to the one who gave me victory

and taught me peace in the valley.

 

 

Tiny

Tiny bubbles rise to the surface

Tiny cracks appear on the wall

Tiny ever so tiny

Lay down the chisel

Pack up the easel.

Standing on the capricious edge of definition

the shadow sprawled in break-away

the spine abandoned hopes of a breakthrough

Tiny ever so tiny

Was the last momentum

upon which a new hope depended.

Tiny but ever more exerting.

Written for the daily prompt breakthrough.

 

Pasture

Shopping for greener pastures.

Moved in spring, happy as peach

Winters’ returned, bringing with it the wanders itch

I crave green pastures again.